All of the birds in my yard are angry
perhaps at me, perhaps at the cold air
They are angry, violently angry

chirping and screeching and causing
a scene. I watch them perched on the roof
next door looking into my yard

as if all the denizens of hell had come
and taken away all the sacred holy  things
that held them once closer to my heart.

There are no words to share from man’s mouth
to bird’s ear — no wren, no sparrow, no finch,
no chickadee can comprehend the madness of a man.

There are no notes to share from bird’s beak
to man’s ear — no white man, no black man, no woman,
no jew, no gentile can comprehend the sanity of birdsong.

What else can I do, but beg forgiveness
my ignorance has left us here staring at each other —
I am heartbroken and they are angry. The birds are
violently angry perched above watching me.